Trafficking
by Iuppiter
Summary: I'm not sure if it's called rape. I don't ask for it, I never ask for it and yet they still call me a prostitute. I don't get it. I should've never of ran away.
1. Prologue

I ran away at age ten. I was sick of my father hitting me. My mother did nothing to stop him. She was too busy being wasted and selling her body out with the knowledge of my dad. He didn't care. He was having an affair himself. I felt as if I were the only person in my family with morals.

I didn't live a luxurious life. Not at all. I was born in the slums of one of Irk's top ten most dangerous cities, Dahtroy in the country of The United Provinces of Irk. Every morning on the news you hear of someone getting stabbed. Someone getting raped. Someone getting murdered. Not out of the ordinary here. It should of scared me but I was raised with it. I wasn't even scared when I saw the police drag my neighbor's dead body out of his home years ago. I guess it was because I have enough to worry about. I was unlucky enough not to go to school. My parents never bothered to enroll me. Not even into a public academy where there was no tuition and the federal government funded the school. They didn't care about me or they forgot all about me. They usually were either high or drunk as fuck.

I remember the first time my dad hit me. Typical kids would be too young to remember, but I recall it perfectly. I was five. Even at the age of five I knew better than to bother my parents but on this particular day, I was feeling defiant. When my father told me, "_Red, I want you outta here for a few days._" for God knows why, I refused. It was winter, a thick blanket of snow was covering the ground, and the homeless were jumping people to strip them of their clothes so they could take and wear the articles for themselves. My father wasn't pleased at all when I disobeyed. He raised his hand, a bulky ring on his finger, and backhanded me. Right across the face. It knocked me to the ground. A deep gouge in my cheek. I have the scar to this day. Practically everyday since then, I'd get at least one form of physical abuse from him. Sometimes my mother would repeat his actions. Five years. I lived with that torment for five years until I decided enough was enough. I fled the city. I even fled the country, completely unaware of what I was getting myself into.

To this day I'm not exactly sure if I regret my decision for running away or not. I do know however, that on that day I left, one of my problems were gone. But at the same time, another problem emerged.


	2. Abduction

**1 Irken year ~ 1 human decade**

* * *

My new troubles came to me quickly when I ran away. A month later, after traveling across the United Provinces of Irk's border into Teximo I was seized by not the authorities to bring me home. But something way worse. Teximo is infamous for its Irken trafficking crime rates, always ranging in the thousand victims per year category.

See what happened was, I wandered into dangerous territory without my knowledge. I was looking for a place, any place to rest when I came across a stranger who seemed all too nice.

...

The boy walked the streets of a dumpy old town in search for shelter. He knew he probably wasn't going to find any home to stay in, so he was anticipating another cold, dark, night out in the elements. While the semi-large country of Teximo was very hot during the day, night was almost completely opposite with a temperature that dropped below zero and his torn up jeans and simple black t-shirt wasn't gonna protect him from the weather.

This child who ran away hasn't regretted it though. He was finally free of emotional and physical torment from his father and mother. Scars on his face were visible to the public eye but of course no one would know his story of how he received them. He would never tell anyone anyway. It wasn't their business.

Said boy cringed at the sight of a hooker on the corner of the street. Dressed skimpily, and reeked of crotch rot. This woman was probably no older than 225 years, but with her smoking habits and drug usage, she looked like she's already aged to 900 years. The boy stood on the opposite corner, discreetly watching this woman and her body language. She was anorexic thin, probably homeless, and very, very hungry. It was no wonder why she resorted to selling herself out to men and other women. She needed the money. It sickened him. But it wouldn't for long. He wasn't going to stay.

He had a plan to go overseas to a distant Irken country in the north where there was less crime, more friendly people, nice neighborhoods, and maybe, just maybe, a family who'd have pity on his poor soul and take him in.

He pressed on down the streets. It was getting dark out and he needed to find some source of heat to help him make it through the night. He came upon an alleyway, peaking in to see if there wasn't a murderer or rapist, because Lord knows how many times that happens down an alley in a night. He saw no one so he walked in and made his way to the large garbage disposal. The lid was open, he grabbed a crate, standing on it so he was able to look down and find materials so he could sleep somewhat alright. He groaned when all he saw was molding food and a carcass of a long dead cat. The little Irken boy jumped off the crate, defeated he tried his luck with the next alley over. He was startled when he heard an old, gruff voice from behind.

"Heyya, kiddo. What ya doin' out here at this time of night?" The boy whirled around to face the speaker. An elderly man with little to no teeth, standing at the opening of the alley.

"I-I'm just trying to find a home." Was his reply. The man nodded.

"How old are you?"

"Ten, sir." The man knelt down to be more level with the boy and not to seem as imposing.

"What's your name, son?" He didn't see any reason to keep his name private, but to be safe, he replied with his most common nickname.

"… I'm called Red."

"Red? Hmm… that's a very nice name. Is that your real one?" Red shook his head. "I see. Red." The elder repeated his name again as if he enjoyed how it tasted on his tongue. "Red. Very appropriate name for a boy like you. You red-eyed Irkens are rare and beautiful kind. People would pay a lot of money to have you." Red shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what the man meant by, '_paying money to have him_'.

"Y-yeah. I was just about to leave. So I'll be on my way." Red said. He attempted to walk past the creepy Irken but was stopped when his arm was grabbed by the man.

"What's the rush here? I think you're a really good candidate for my business."

"Business?"

"Yeah. My business." The man reached into his ratty coat. Red's eyes went wide with fright.

"Please, let me go. I don't want any part of your business. I'm just an immigrant." Red tried to pull away but it was no use. His arms were caught in a vice-like grip. He saw the man pull out a mini taser, bringing it up to Red's neck. What happened next was a daze. He went in and out of consciousness, every time he did so, the scene was different. Being loaded into a cruiser. A bunch of men looming over him. Then finally, blackness of a blindfold covering his eyes.

...

If you think getting abducted is bad, it's nothing compared to what I had to endure afterward. Abduction was only phase one of their 'recruiting' mission. Phase two, I'm dreading to talk about it but the people must know. Not only do I want you to know, I want you to feel the pain and embarrassment that I have experienced. I want you to see how sexual exploitation ruined my life. The only way I can do that is detail. You'll cringe, you'll feel emotional, you'll feel grief that as you read this, in the back of your mind you'll realize that these events are occurring at this very moment. At this moment, there's someone screaming, crying, dying. At this moment there's a rape victim, abuse victim, forced physical labor victim. At this very moment, as all of this is going on, you're becoming more and more aware of our cruel world.


	3. Auction

I can't recall much of anything from when I was first taken. But after, I remember everything vividly.

...

Red felt a sharp kick delivered to his abdomen. It knocked the breath out of him. Unfortunately, he could see nothing. A black, fabric bag was put over his head and tied by the neck. His wrists were bound behind his back. His ankles too were tied together painfully tight. To the point in which the cables cut into his skin. Another thing that horrified him was the chilly breeze on his skin. It wasn't the breeze so much as it was the fact that he could feel it all over his body. He was naked. He didn't need to see to know that.

Another kick to his chest. He laid there helpless. He couldn't move, he was too afraid to scream for help. He heard the voices of many men talk among him. Red could sense eyes on his nude body. The sound of a large muffled crowd rang in his antenna as well. His face scrunched up with fright. What was going to happen to him? What did these men want?

He felt a large hand hoist him up by his neck, the cable around his ankles were cut. The hand pushed him forward. Red, not knowing where he was going, allowed himself to be led around like a pig to the slaughter house. Red stubbed his foot on a step. Two hands grabbed him this time and picked him up, carrying him up a few steps. He was thrown down on what felt like wood. The bag over his head was ripped off him. His eyes dilated when he found himself knelt before a swarm of people on a risen wood platform so the crowd could get a better view of him. His body nude and bruised. Red coward at the sight, humiliated beyond comprehension. In his head his brain hurt from trying to figure out exactly what was going on. He was commanded to stand by a large Irken man holding a leather bullwhip. Shakily, Red complied to the command.

Not too long after he stood was he accompanied by yet another boy, blinded by a black bag, shoved the the floor, foot bindings cut. He too was ordered to stand before the crowd naked as the day of his birth. The man with the bullwhip ripped the bag off the other's head. Red looked at him. They could be almost identical if it weren't for the eye color difference. While Red's eyes were a bright, deep, crimson, the other's were a lovely, violet. The two shared a look, both realized that whatever was about to happen to them, they were going to have to endure it together. They were equals. Another man holding a mic stepped up in the stage, he spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, what we have here are two youngsters. Ten and twelve years of age." He approached Red, taking his upper arm in his big hands and leading him up further on the platform. "A boy native to U.P.I., found in Teximo. He's a rare breed with these red eyes, has a strong back, great hygiene, nearly perfect teeth, _and_ he's a virgin." Red's heart pumped hard. It was an auction. They were going to sell him! The audience at the fact that he was a virgin, stirred them up a great deal. "Omega is his letter. We'll auction him after Alpha." The man with the mic moved to the other boy and started talking about him. "Letter, Alpha, purple eyes, broad shoulders, virgin, great hygiene, strong legs and arms." Again the crowd seemed pleased. "Alpha is now up for sale for the night only, in the sight of the Grates." A couple dozen hands shot up, shouting out random numbers that started out ranging in the 80's.

"80!"

"85!"

"95!"

"115!" Red watched the boy, a lone tear snuck it's way down his cheek.

"I hear 1-15, do I hear 1-20? 1-20? 1-50! Do I hear 1-60? 1-60 going once… twice… sold to the man with the number 1-32!" The purple-eyed boy lowered his head in shame. The man who purchased him came up to the front to claim his prize. It was a medium-sized Vortian who had bought him for the night. Red couldn't tell much more about the man except that he looked cynical.

Red gasped when the other boy was shoved down onto the stage floor, his arms still behind his back. The man with the whip now held a brander, the insignia on the end was glowing red. It had the letter 'Α' on it. He put his heavy boot on the boy's back and brought down the brand to his skin, pressing it into his lower back, centered, right on the belt line. The boy screamed, his flesh making a sick sizzling sound as it burned. Red cringed, looking away. He could smell the rancid stench of scorched skin. Once the screaming ceased, he dared to looked back. Now, like a tramp stamp, the poor boy was marked with the letter Alpha.

"Omega is now for sale with the same regulations as Alpha." Everything suddenly became slow motion. The voices of the crowd, muted. He could believe it. He could not believe what was happening. Of all the boys on Irk, they chose him. He heard the final price, 1-35. He was worth more than just 135 monies. And yet, that was the price.

...

And like that, we were sold. They threw us in a waiting room until night came and our buyers renting time began. I'll never forget that day.

Like the other boy, I too was pushed down and branded in the same spot, but only with the symbol 'Ω', and from then on, I was known only as Omega. Red didn't exist anymore after that. Or rather, he wouldn't exist until the day of his rescue… ten years later.


End file.
